~ for Diane Arbus and Howard Nemerov, siblings -
We imagine genetic fascination
with hairy things
privileged children of furriers
drawn to shit and deformity
the collapse of bone in the dog’s jaw.
How you’ll irritate the child
till his exasperated grimace
gives you what you came for.
How you’ll make beauty plain
and plainness extraordinary.
Peering at degrees of disintegration
as if it were interesting.
to watch the feces steam
then harden and crumble -
the walls tumble
your comfortable life
degrades. The freaks
come down to dance.
Author notes
apple probably fallen too soon from the tree
inspired by the movie "Fur" and by Being Alive p 178, "Walking the Dog" by Howard Nemerov
Comments
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Unfortunately I've been called a freak before . . . however, I emphatically deny any allegiance to such a group.
I really like this poem, zara. It's extremely well written . . . brings a dose of reality to the table.
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Oh, you are definitely a freak. The denial of allegiance proves it.
Did you see the movie? You must.
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I don't recall such a movie. Did it involve a freak show?
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Writing a poem about Diane Arbus after talking to Anne and visiting
her Official Website
your child
the one you named Doon
and i bet your blood looked black
running out of your wrists
i have no clue why you killed yourself
but that boy with the grenade
did he represent your inner self?
always ready to explode. and the twins
well they were from new jersey and that is my home state so we are connected some how. plus
you were jewish and
lots of my friends growing up were
jewish and had parents that worked in the garment district of NYC. i envied them. it was the 70's and their mothers wallpapered their kitchens with silver-leafed flowers with black
stems. my mother would never do that. and they went to camp in the catskills.
anne told me your brother is the poet Howard Nemerov
i should read some of him. maybe i have
but forget. i don't read too many living poets and should
but i always read Anne.
i recognized immediately that photograph of the giant man hunched over
in what looked like a fun house. but had know idea who you were, Diane Arbus,
jewish lady, photographer, daughter of rich parents who got divorced and had a life which you felt you needed to abruptly
end.
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Nemerov died in 1991, I believe, so you're allowed to read him.
He wrote a poem called "The Vacuum", whose first line - "The house is so quiet now" - I stole to start a poem of my own, couple of years back.
Thank you for this poem-response! Yes the things we recognize without knowing or remembering the maker's name.
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yeah i remember that poem of yours. Re: do we think about people's lives too much in terms of how they die:
suicide is interesting. artist suicide doubly interesting ( at least to me ). such paradox - oftentimes huge success = desperate measures. rothko - plath - sexton - cobain etc. why? because they could never capture the perfect painting? the right words for the poem? the success doesn't fill the hole?
death is an interesting topic artistically as well. so mysterious.
i would probably obsess about her life as well but i need to learn more about her.
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ooops. i mean "show" me more.
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We imagine genetic fascination
with hairy things
Consider moving this to later in the poem or axing it all together and opening with:
Privileged children of furriers
drawn to shit and deformity
the collapse of bone in the dog’s jaw.
or, yes look at this or, opening it with
I imagine ... cause it seems you did and sometimes you just have to be personal especially in reaction/response. Right?
Diane will irritate the child
till his exasperated grimace
gives her what she came for.
Name her. Incriminate her. Not nearly enough here for me. Allude to that grenade? to the two sides of the war she herself seemed to fight.. to something right there that makes your reader seek out that photograph OR at least "feel" the photo from your words. I happened to stare at that photo for quite some time last night after our chat -- and the twins one too and of course who doesn't know that giant photo?
I think you are onto something with the shit / and the degrading life but right, not quite shit soup yet. And I don't know the Nemerov poem so I'm probably not enough in the now about it to comment on that further.
Almost want read how she opened her wrists. More about the freaks. There needs to be more -- more of the frankness or harshness of a photograh. She aimed to shock it seems -- and yet her life in and of itself seems shocking enough. Despite hiding behind some other life at times?
Dig deeper into your mind's reaction to this lady this reader says and tell me more.
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Good suggestions all, thank you. Maybe a series? Her wrists weren't in the movie - that was years later - and they don't belong in this poem. Do you think sometimes we think about people's lives too much in terms of how they die?
Nemerov takes two stanzas - 12 lines - of a four-stanza poem to talk about his dog's shit. I thought that was an interesting parallel with Arbus's interest in freaks.
I'll let this sit, as it should, for a bit.
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oohhh yes...
i love that poem, the way he's so in touch with the two worlds..
are you mistress of your poem, I wonder??
I don't know the film though, so now i have to find out about that too...
you make me work hard on your poems.. which is good...
please yell at me some more, it makes me learn...
I love the plainness of beauty... (i do so get that part inside me)
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very incisive poetry , well done
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It is, of course, a de-evolution of ideals, the small magnified and the walls not all that sturdily built at all.
And the truth is indeed that the plain is so often breathtakingly beautiful whereas the beautiful is so often plain (beneath the glitter and tin-foil gold) (and no....that shan't loop about Mobeus-wise)
I haven't seen the movie..nor read page 178 (the terrier ate that page..I swear)....but this seems quite cohesive as an observation of life and...hmmm...something else....a genetic trait....but I'm not certain just what yet.
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